


Of Favors and Failures

by TriplePirouette



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Angst, During Ep, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“More importantly, what kind of mother would give away... sell... bargain with two children?” My feelings on the way Rumpel transforms throughout “The Price of Gold” based on what we learn in “Skin Deep.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Favors and Failures

**Author's Note:**

> Because my day yesterday turned to crap, and I want to join the war that's happening in Rumbelle on Tumblr (though apparently it over? When did that happen???). *puts on helmet* A little fill in for my thoughts as to why his demeanor changes so much in “The Price of Gold” from beginning to end. (After all, at least half a year happens during the episode, I like to think Belle is there at the start, but not at the end.) Also, I follow the twitters of RC and JE, so if you're familiar with RC's tweeting, you'll see a little surprise in here as well. :) (I also have many personal questions about this episode. If Snow White had a baby first, does that mean she was pregnant at the ball? Time-lines in this land CONFUSE me.)
> 
> Also an admittedly weak initial volley in the Rumbelle Wars. I will have stronger shots coming soon. (Hopefully...)

All Rumpelstiltskin wanted when he first met the young Cinderella was the wand. That beautiful, dammed, magic wand. He didn't want to hear her sob story, or to be her savior by conjuring up a dress and some silly glass slippers. Standing on the edge of the festivities for her wedding feast, he can't help but think that perhaps he went a bit wrong in hanging around and making her dreams come true.

 

But he did, anyway, and he can only try to make it work to his advantage now. He never understood the obsession that young women had with royal balls. He found them quite droll, boring, and of absolutely no use whatsoever. Yet, young girls still dreamed of dancing at them, and who was he to deny them. Cinderella was quite pretty, so he didn't even have to cast a spell for love or obsession. Surely that smile would have reeled in some unsuspecting Lord or Duke on it's own. He just needed to make that sack she was wearing into something presentable and send her on her way.

 

But not without a price.

 

He'd taken to being owed “favors,” and in retrospect it was one of the best decisions he'd ever made in regard to the Dark Magic. It was simpler than naming his price ahead of time; who knew when knowing a King or a blacksmith would come in handy. He didn't need gold or jewels, favors were much more useful. Besides, Zoso had never warned him of the price of magic. Even when the spells themselves didn't come with a price, he decided his services should- just to remind people that magic was not nearly the easy way out it seemed.

 

So he was promised a “favor” in exchange for a beautiful dress, and will barely admit that he's happy that he did so when he found that she actually hooked Prince Thomas. He stands at the edge of the ballroom, wearing spun gold cloth, and watches her dance happily.

 

His price may be too high for her, but she will pay it.

 

His happiness depends on it.

 

*~*~*

 

He's been watching Belle for months now: he watches her clean, watches her sew, watches her cook, always from just out of sight. She smiles sadly, hums, and dances with empty shirts and straw brooms. Though her companionship is more than enough to fill the empty corners of his existence even with two of them, the castle is lonely for the girl who grew up with family and court constantly surrounding her.

 

He decides that he will call in Cinderella's favor for Belle. Perhaps a prized steed, or a unicorn. Maybe even a whole gaggle of puppies to roam around the house. _A hundred dogs, no a hundred and one at least- far too many rooms to only have a hundred._ But he never quite finds the right thought. 

 

Dresses of silver and moonlight.  _She would never wear them._

 

Jewels from far away lands. _She only wears that one necklace no matter how many golden chains he makes her._

 

More books than she could ever read. _He already has a vast library that she's slowly making her way through, more than enough for at least two lifetimes._

 

He comes across the answer unexpectedly when he finds her roaming the castle halls one morning, whispering to something held delicately in her hands.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, trying to look into the cradle her palms make.

 

She reveals a small gray mouse, chewing on a bit of cheese. “I found him in my closet, half dead.”

 

“Just a mouse,” he says tightly, watching the odd way she holds affection for it. “I'm sure we have hundreds in the dungeon.”

 

She shakes her head, smiling and petting a finger over the tiny creature's head. “He's just a baby, poor thing. Couldn't fend for himself.”

 

“So you're going to help feed the vermin?” he twitters back lightly.

 

Her coy smile tells him that her words are jest, even if they do cut a bit too close. “I feed you, do I not?”

 

He drops his jaw, clutching at his chest in mock outrage, but drops the facade after a moment. “Suppose you do, dearie.” He begins to walk past her, but stops, pointing a claw at the small mouse. “I've seen you climb statues to get away from mice.”

 

“Large mice,” she presses her lips together and spits the words out “mean mice, but this is a baby. It's too small to be frightening... and it is much cuter...” She begins to coo over the small bit of fur again and he turns and leaves, confused as ever by Belle.

 

Two days later he finds her searching the nooks and crannies of the library on her hands and knees. “Lost something?”

 

She sighs, sitting on the floor and fluffing her skirts over her legs. “I've lost him.” Rumpelstiltskin just stares and she continues. “George, my baby mouse.”

 

He shake his head, laughter bubbling up. “You named him George?”

 

Belle pouts, something he has never seen her do before. “He's just a baby.”

 

He sits beside her, looking at her more closely. “You keep saying that. I've had mice in my home for decades now. I find they always fend quite well for themselves. Even the babies.” Her eyes fall to her skirt, and after a quiet moment he can't help but ask her the only thing that has come to mind after watching her care for the wretched creature. “Did you want children?”

 

Her sigh is sad, her words low and uncomfortable. “Not really in the cards now, is it?” Belle stands, excusing herself quickly to return to her dusting and hurrying out of the room.

 

For a second Rumpelstiltskin thinks that he'll simply gather her every mouse he can find in the kingdom for her, but then a better idea comes to mind.

 

*~*~*

 

As he waltzes with Cinderella he isn't thinking about midnight feedings or colic from damp castles or all of the dangerous, sharp edges that are lurking within the walls of his home. He's thinking that Thomas and Ella have lovely features; their child will be nearly as beautiful as his Belle. They both have light eyes so the child, hopefully a girl, will be light eyed as well. She'll also likely be blonde, but can be made a brunette with some simple magic.

 

And then Belle won't be lonely.

 

She won't have only him to talk to every day.

 

She'll have someone to listen to her lullabies. He sees visions of her cradling the child to her chest, smiling down at it with the same care and love that she showed the tiny mouse in her hands. But this, this will grow to love her back.

 

It will love her back in a way he never can, not if he wishes to remain powerful.

 

He spins Cinderella away, disappearing into the crowd and then into vapor, reappearing deep in the forest so he can have a moment to himself before returning to his caretaker's smiling face. He's always thought of as a monster for these deals- they've become infamous in the realms. _Beware Rumpelstiltskin, he'll bargain for your baby._ He laughs as he thinks that his infamy hasn't stopped anyone yet.

 

And no one knows about the mothers he hands the children to, the women who will find happiness and a better life with a child to love them back. He isn't heartless. He has no need to keep innocent children in his castle for the sake of collecting them. Each price for one woman is a dream for another.

 

Cinderella's price will be Belle's dream.

 

*~*~*

 

One day when he's nearly ready to collect his price from Cinderella, Belle kisses him.

 

Belle kisses him, then she leaves him.

 

Belle kisses him, she leaves him, and then only days later she dies.

 

There will be no more grand bargains for Rumpelstiltskin, because he finds there are no more rules with her gone.

 

The price of his magic has become far too high. If _they_ want it, the sad, disingenuous people of the realm whom he deals with, _they_ shall have it. But _his_ happiness- _his_ hope for any kind of life away from the Darkness, a life of using the Darkness for good- he knows now can never be.

 

*~*~*

 

Snow's Bluebird of Happiness and Royal Messages almost gets it's head torn off as it chirps happily at him from one to the bleak, broken windows of his castle, but he lets it go on it's merry way with a reply after gnashing his teeth at it appropriately.

 

He will meet Cinderella.

 

She will want to beg for her child. She will want forgiveness and a new deal and do anything... _anything_ to keep it.

 

He's of half a mind to let her. Why hold up the bargain when there is no one here to love the child? He certainly no longer wants it, and has no one else in mind for it the would care for it or love it as _she_ would have.

 

He brews another potion to forget, slips it into a flask and drinks it all day. He wishes his own magic could work on him, but it is destined to be impotent and simply tastes of fermented berries and magic.

 

*~*~*

 

He's decided, by the time that he shows up, that he'll only make the poor princess beg a little to keep her child. He'll extract the promise of another favor from her and seem quite the nice monster today. After only a few moments, he sees it is she that is the monster.

 

She is not nearly the person he thought her to be when he met her that night. She wants to bargain away both of her children. What does she think he wants them for? And for that matter, what would he do with two children? Juggle them?

 

More importantly, what kind of mother would give away... sell... _bargain_ with _two_ children?

 

He is disgusted. The memories of being a father fighting within him as he wars for a calm face and sarcastic voice. He should simply end her now and... but he touches her stomach and realizes the game is still very much being played. Cinderella and her prince should have known she could not fool him. There is only one child in there.

 

_A girl. A blue eyed, brown haired girl._ The magic in his blood shows him just what she'll look like, a genetic mash up of the two royals but with Ella's mother's dark hair. It is the child he'd seen in his daydreams cradled by the woman who haunts his nightmares. His heart breaks just a bit more. 

 

Closer now, he can feel the magic of the Blue Fairy as Ella keeps talking, and can't help but comment though she can't see it. He wishes, above all things, that she would just plead to keep the child. Just ask him once to retain her offspring and he can say yes and be done. But she will not. She's been coached on what to say and she will not veer from the script. He warns her. He is as explicit for this poor, wretched thing as he can be without coming out and saying that he knows exactly what she is trying to do. Either she's thick or determined because she ignores all he says. His heart clenches for a moment, and he thinks that he may becoming human again, because he hasn't felt this much heartbreak in a long, long time. 

 

Making deals was always his weakness, but he was never, ever stupid enough to fall for a trap like this. In the past he would have crashed lighting around her and vaporized the quill and contract; made quite the scene for all the eyes watching them from the edge of the garden and then disappeared, only to come back right as the child was being born to collect.

 

But he has no need for the child anymore.

 

His castle is quiet and dusty.

 

Belle is dead.

 

He is hated and reviled and feared and he has never, not once, been able to turn the Dark Magic to be used completely for good. It has always, _always_ come with a price.

 

Child or no, favor or no, there is very little for him to go home to now. He sees in an instant why Zoso was so keen to trick him into taking the power. Just as Zoso allowed Rumpelstiltskin to trick him, Rumpelstiltskin allows himself to be tricked by the pregnant, blonde princess.

 

He makes a show for the royals. Wouldn't do to seem too resigned to imprisonment or nearly happy about it, but he does make a show. He shouts the right words and struggles at the appropriate times, but they should know the truth: he's let himself be caught.

 

His deals always get made, even if he is not the one making them. He releases the power to do what it will and hangs his head in shame. He knows that it is the Dark Magic that takes Thomas in exchange for the babe. Ella will get him back when the child is in the possession of Rumpelstiltskin or another deal is struck, but for now the prince will remain hidden, even from Rumpelstiltskin. All magic, especially powerful, vengeful magic, comes with a price. Sometimes, that price is out of his control.

 

*~*~*

 

Mr. Gold is just as fond of favors in this life as he was in his past life. He needs a way to extract one from Emma, and poor Ashley's baby is just the way to do it.

 

After all, the child does not deserve to grow up with him. She can't leave, just like any of them, and he has no one else in Storybrooke who would take her after hearing Ashley's story. He hopes that Emma will make the deal with him, but even if she doesn't, he knows that in the end he will not take that poor girl's baby. The child would be much better off with a single mother who loves her and an absent father than a cowardly and empty foster father and no mother at all.

 

Manipulating Emma is not simple, but not nearly as hard as he thinks it will be, either. He isn't lying when he tells her he'd rather have her on his side. She's a formidable enemy; strong willed and pure in her intentions. _So like another he knew, his mind supplies unbidden._ Between her determination and his deviousness, they could take the town back from Regina in a heartbeat. But she's not ready to hear that yet. He leaves the hospital with a simple promise, and knows she will hold up her end of the bargain.

 

When he returns home, he pulls a chipped tea cup from it's hiding place in the back of the cabinet. He cradles it in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth and rough edges. When he closes his eyes, the porcelain feels rounder and warm, downy soft under his fingertips. He can imagine the tiny head of a baby under his fingertips; the feel of Bael when he was first born.

 

Belle's face ghosts through his memory. He knew, deep in his heart, that a baby would never have completely appeased her. It would have simply tied her down much more surely. But had he been in possession of the child just month earlier, perhaps she wouldn't have run. Perhaps she would have been mad at him but stayed.

 

Perhaps she would have run, with the child, and there would have been two deaths on his soul.

 

He presses his eyes tightly together. No more deaths. No more deals for children that cause pain. Yes, there are still deals to be struck, and a reputation to uphold, but the Dark Magic has taken a toll on his soul for which he was unprepared. Emma is all he's hoped her to be, and after he's helped her break the curse, the power will be useless, just as he is.

 

He opens his eyes, looking at the chip that has widened over the years, the handmade quality of the cup lending to poor sustainability. The chip has only grown, tiny bits of dust falling to the floor every time he rubs his thumb over the edge. He imagines a day when he'll only have a sliver of the china left to hold, running his fingers over it here in the unchanging world of the curse or there in the uninviting hell of his castle, running his finger over it and forcing the china to dust. Perhaps, he will turn to dust then, too.  


End file.
